


Enough Already

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-05
Updated: 2011-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:50:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to episode 1x15</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough Already

"You really thought we'd let you do that alone." It isn't a question. Danny stuffs his hands in his pockets, watches Steve's back, the pull and play of muscle beneath an old, threadbare t-shirt as Steve washes some pan or another, scrubbing at the metal though his life depends upon it.

"Not in the mood," Steve says, rinsing the pan under cold water and letting it clatter into the drainer. He shuts off the faucet, shakes water off his hands, doesn't turn around.

"What, because there's some perfect time for us to talk about this?" Danny asks. "Work, maybe? All four of us cozied up to the tech-desk – we can do that, if you like, talk it out in detail, maybe Chin can make a couple of diagrams. But I'm thinking no." He scratches the spot beneath his chin that's been itching all day – stress, bad shave, some bug or another, whatever, it's like some physical manifestation of the way Steve's under his skin. "And I gotta point out, the alarm was off, so . . . " He spreads his hands even though Steve's not looking at him.

"I forgot," Steve says, shrugging, shifting the bottle of dish soap a fraction, lining up the hand soap just so.

Danny makes a show of thinking it over. "Right. Totally plausible. What was I thinking."

Steve sags for a second, then turns around, crosses his arms across his chest and does that thing where he looks down his nose, like Danny's a mystery, or a nuisance, or a Little Debbie, it's hard to tell. "So, what. What did you come over to say?" He hitches his shoulders in a shrug. "Go ahead."

It's pitiful, really, truly, the way he's trying to get Danny mad, but Danny's smarter than that, been around the block a couple of times, used his anger for useful things today, like tsunamis, and naughty, naughty, naughty hackers, and he's fresh out of irritation for this kind of thing. "I don't know. Thought we should maybe clear some things up. About you and your wild imaginings," he gestures with a hand, because the imaginings were pretty wild, they deserve some physical space, "how you were going stoically to meet your doom, take the blame, whatever it was."

Steve looks off toward the stove, and Danny can see his jaw working. "I'm in charge. I take responsibility."

"Yeah, see, no, that's not it," Danny says, rounding the kitchen island to get in closer. Steve tenses, and Danny's almost amused by the way he's eyeing him like he's a threat. "I'm not talking about chain of command, boss stuff, whatever bullshit you want to call that. I'm talking about _us_. Team. Friendship. Partners. Whatever." He pauses, watches Steve's face. "How could you imagine we'd let you do that alone?"

Steve closes his eyes, and breathes out in that way Danny's come to understand is all about control, about mind over matter, about slowing things down. "You don't . . . _I_ don't . . ."

"I'm just saying," Danny says, moving another step closer, pressing his advantage. He can feel Steve's body heat now. "You told me once, months ago, like, two weeks in – you said 'you're not as alone around here as you think, Danno.' Like this was some big secret you were keeping, some wisdom you were imparting. And yet, you – " He stops, laughing softly, wryly, shakes his head. " _You're_ the one who goes and . . . "

"You're throwing words around again, hoping they stick."

Danny huffs and jams a finger right into Steve's chest. "You're the one who thinks he's on his own," he says, low and a little mean. "You. And maybe, just maybe, that's understandable, because you got shit like a person wouldn't believe in your family, you got all these years working with people who get shot and _killed_ for their trouble, and you come back here for what? For your dad, cause it's duty, it's obligation, and that's enough, right? Only I got news for you, babe – you got a whole lot more than that, and it's getting fucking offensive that you can't _see_ it."

Steve's eyes are wide, and he's watching Danny like he's a bomb about to go off, which maybe isn't far from the truth, Danny can give him that. "I didn't mean . . ."

"Oh no, no, no, do not go the wounded, guilty route here, do not start apologizing, I will seriously . . ."

"Danny – "

"Just fucking _kiss_ me already, all right? Jesus, what does a guy have to do?"

Steve blinks – a big old cartoon-character double-take, and it'd be funny if it were any other situation; blinks and blinks again, and then – _fuck, yes, finally_ – he ducks down, kisses Danny blindly, a little sloppy for the first few seconds, then it's like he gathers in all his intel, figures Danny out, and Danny's backed up against the counter and Steve's licking into his mouth and _shit_ , this is exactly how good he'd hoped it would be, all mind-wiping heat and backed-up breath, and Danny slides his hands up inside the back of Steve's shirt and feels him shiver, a full-body tremble, and god, that is satisfying beyond anything he has words to describe.

When Steve pulls back he looks wrecked – lips swollen, pupils blown, and he's rocking against Danny's hip just a fraction, mindless, no thought behind it, just instinct. Danny grins, because who's he kidding, wrecked's a good look on Steve McGarrett, and he reaches up, gets Steve's chin between thumb and forefinger, shakes him a little says, "Huh? Huh? You goof."

And Steve smiles – one of those big, open-hearted, bowled-over smiles that Danny fucking _loves_ , and he bats Danny's hand away, says, "All right, shut up now, don't get cocky."

Danny feels his eyebrow twitch – he's not giving it orders, but what's a guy to do with that kind of comment when Steve's hard, no mistaking that fact, and he can make him gasp by running one fingernail down his spine. "Cocky?" he repeats.

Steve winces. "Bad choice of words."

Danny grins at him. "Maybe. Or maybe you should show me what you got. Less talking, more putting out."

Steve laughs, ducks his head. "What, no romance?"

"Oh, it's around here somewhere. Probably stuffed the same place as your ability to think straight, your sense of self-preservation, your safe driver permit, I could go on, should I keep going? I got a list, I've been working on it for a while."

And Steve shakes his head. "No. I get it."

"You get it?" Danny asks, and pardon him for showing a little incredulity on his face, if he does, which he thinks – who's he kidding, he knows it's there.

"I get it," Steve says, softer, and he leans in, presses their foreheads together. "I get it, I promise.

Danny lets out a breath. "Okay, good. Cause if have to see that face one more time, that _shit, I got people, what the fuck face_ , I swear . . ."

And Steve kisses him, lazy and hot, and okay, they can stop talking now, Danny's got his number, likes this, he's on board.


End file.
